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Rooked

I wrote this for the poetry jam, where the prompt this week is "you can go home again." I had so many memories to choose from, but for some reason this particular one bubbled to the surface. As soon as I thought of it I was right back there in the kitchen of the home where I grew up. It makes me laugh now, but I have to tell you that I spent the entire summer being indignant. Of course, I was a teenager, so indignant was my natural state.

Rooked

I stand at the kitchen island
case knife in one hand,
Duke’s mayo jar in the other.
Muttering under my breath
I fling the ham and the cheese
then start on the banana sandwich,
schmear saltines with peanut butter.
Aggrieved sighing accompanies
the scooping of cottage cheese
and canned pear halves.
This was the summer
I packed my dad’s lunch
every single day
because my mom
cheated at cards.

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Born in the south, I lived in Ohio for nearly 20 years. Now I’m back “home.” Follow along as I travel barely remembered paths and learn how to be southern again. For example, will I ever get my accent back? Stay tuned!